Juliana’s determination slipped. How could she refuse?
An avalanche of rain hit the roof. The walls of the cabin creaked. Outside, she would be soaked. In here she would be safe, like she used to feel in her mother’s house, when the mid-year storms broke.
But what about Constantine? He could be awake, nearby, listening. Suddenly, the cabin felt small and oppressive, pressing in on her.
“I must go, mistress.” She tried to stand. But her legs were someone else's. They swayed under her. Sweat slipped down her neck, between her breasts, and ran freely over her body. A compelling urge to hug Sybellina gripped her.
Sybellina's face looked pale in the candlelight, ghostly, as if some spirit inside her had revealed itself.
Juliana swayed.
A look of contempt twisted Sybellina’s face. She reached under the table and retrieved a long gold needle with a hook at its end. She placed it on the table in front of her. The candle swayed, bringing life to the shadows.
“You are with child, yes. From him.”
Juliana's mouth opened. Had Sybellina been reading her mind?
“No, I am not,” she said. Drawing on the last of her strength she staggered back toward the door. Sybellina’s face contorted.
“The wombs of all our sisters belong to the great mother. You will tell me what I seek, or your firstborn will be forfeit.” She lifted the needle and pointed it at Juliana. “This is your choice, not mine.”
Juliana stumbled back again. Sybellina came toward her slowly, like a cat.
“No one stands against me. It is written so in all the sacred books.”
Juliana felt the door behind her, the large wooden handle in the small of her back. She turned, opened the door and darted out into the rain. She could be beaten for this. But she didn’t care. Almost every memory of her real mother had faded over the years. But one thing she held onto. To trust the voices inside her when they warned her. She could not betray them.
She gulped as rain splattered her face. The warmth of Sybellina's cabin pulled at her, sucking her back, telling her she’d made the wrong choice. She pictured her tormentor waiting with open arms. Then she saw the needle in her hand.
The canvas awning that protected the rowing area trembled above her head from a thousand jumping raindrops. Gusts of rain drove in on each side. She ran down the narrow central passage to the entrance to the crew’s quarters and her cubbyhole, and there she turned back. A shudder ran through her body.
The doorway to Sybellina's cabin, at the far end of the galley, was open. She was standing in the doorway totally naked, the curved outline of her body clearly visible, silhouetted by candlelight. She looked like a statue of a goddess with her hands raised. Whether she was enticing Juliana, or threatening her, she couldn't tell.
A high-pitched wail echoed through the rain, as if far out at sea a spirit had announced some ghastly premonition.
Juliana fled. When she reached her cubbyhole, she blocked the hatch behind her and lay down shivering. Friendship with someone like Sybellina had been an enticing thought. Rejecting her might be truly dangerous. Her cheeks tingled as she steadied her breathing. She should have known talking with Constantine would end up this way. She had to stay away from him. That would be what Sybellina was most concerned about. Her competition. She trembled at the thought of what Sybellina might do next. Then she pushed another water jug against the hatch door.
It took a long time for the trembling to end. She thought of jumping overboard, sinking to the bottom, embracing the cold water, and a final escape. She’d heard many times about slaves who’d killed themselves. The show of consideration Sybellina had displayed, as she’d taken her to her cabin, and the way it had been snatched away, had made her even more aware of her loneliness on the ship. But she’d been right not to tell Sybellina anything.
When she woke, the rain was only a memory and the sea, like a mirror, dazzled her, reflecting the early morning sun. The air smelled salt drenched, refreshing. Soft swells travelled across it like ripples blown across a bowl of molten silver. The sailing would be good today. She heard her name. The cook was waiting. Oarsmen milled around, staring at her. She could hardly see the far end of the galley, there were so many men about. Staying clear of the grabbing hands and the cocks a few of the oarsmen wanted to show her, kept her on deck and away from dark places where a man could grab her and smother her screams.
She ate almost nothing that day, as she waited to be summoned by Sybellina. But she wasn’t, and that evening they dropped anchor by a long sandy beach, which stretched as far as you could see in each direction. The hiss of the breakers and the sway of the galley as she rocked at anchor soothed her as she helped the cook. She’d managed to avoid even speaking to Sybellina up to this moment, but now she had to serve the evening meal.
The only thing that happened though, when she brought them the main course, was that Sybellina said in a haughty manner, “Have you been hiding, girl?” as Juliana ladled out the fish stew.
She replied that she’d been working, grabbed some dirty dishes, and sped off with Sybellina's gloating eyes on her. Juliana looked back when she reached the steep stairs to the lower deck. Sybellina leaned back on her cushions, her arms outstretched, one hand close to Constantine’s bare elbow, almost touching him.
She looked serene, a goddess whose life could never be touched by ordinary difficulties. Juliana thought Constantine might have said something, called her back, but he hadn’t. He’d been gazing only at Sybellina. She had won him in a few days. Some people who deserved nothing were truly blessed by the gods. If only there was a way to turn such luck around.
Pleading illness, a sick stomach, she escaped soon after to her cubbyhole and listened to the sound of the sea slapping against the beards of seaweed along the side of the galley. Occasionally, peals of Sybellina's laughter came drifting down to her and as it did she started hating them all. Then she grew angry. She had been saved for a reason. She should have been dead already. This was what everybody told her. The spirits wanted her alive. They needed her for something. She would survive to see what that something was.
A memory of the needle Sybellina had shown her kept coming back to her, and a question; why had Sybellina asked about her dream reading? There could only be one answer.
Constantine must have said something to her. He must have. Juliana closed her eyes, imagined him talking about her. Perhaps he’d said she'd helped him, or that he valued her reading. Yes, it had to be something like that. Sybellina had become jealous. And she might still be. You had to expect anything from a jealous mistress. She checked the water jugs were tight against the door and then curled up tight with her back against them.
It took several days before her mind eased. In the meantime, she stayed away from Sybellina, who looked at her knowingly and contemptuously whenever she came near, as if she knew her every thought.
They arrived at Massilia in the morning, during the second hour past sunrise four days later, one day after she started eating properly again. Sleepless nights waiting for another knock on her door had not helped.
The city looked like a wall painting reflected in the blue-green sea as they rowed toward it into a light breeze. Tall apartment buildings shimmered yellow and pale pink in the air beyond the cliff of an old salt-whitened mole, as seagulls banked and dived, calling to each other. She squinted, trying to get some inkling about what Gaul might be like. But Massilia looked like every other Roman port, as far as she could see.
The talk among the oarsmen that morning had been about how different the people were in Gaul. How they’d still be hanging the heads of their enemies by their front doors if Rome hadn’t civilized them, and how after all the work of a dozen well-meaning emperors, a Gaul’s moustache still dripped with grease and gravy.
Relief flowed through her now the voyage was over. She could smell the city, faint at first, the occasional whiff of horse shit and dust, but soon she could smell flowers and people, though surely that was i
mpossible.
As they waited to dock, she scanned the slaves scurrying about on the mole. Not one had a beard. Then she overheard Sybellina telling Constantine and Lucius that they must stay with a military Tribune she knew in the town. They could get the best supplies from him for the journey north, she insisted, when Lucius questioned the suggestion.
Lucius was silenced when Sybellina asked what his alternative was. Juliana had considered telling Lucius what had happened during her visit to Sybellina's cabin, but she’d quickly discarded the idea. Slaves are the master’s possessions, and who wants a possession that attracts trouble, her foster mother had warned her. And every experience since had proven her foster mother right.
When everything was ready, they were saluted off the ship with great ceremony and escorted to the stables at the end of the dock. Juliana’s bundle was light enough to be carried in one hand, but two oarsmen were needed to carry Sybellina’s soft leather bags. She seemed to have accumulated even more since they’d ridden down from Rome. Perhaps the captain had been generous to her.
After their horses were saddled, and Lucius and Sybellina had haggled over them, the stablemaster warned them about refugees attempting to flee the city. “Do not speak to any of the foolish beggars waiting beyond the gate. Not one,” he said. “It only encourages them. It’s as if we’re in a war posting these days with all the refugees that come crying through here.” He spat on the ground and walked back into his shadowed stables.
As they passed through the dock gates they were confronted by a crowd of desperate looking people pressing forward, pleading for news and alms. The galley captain had given them an escort of four oarsmen to guard them to the Tribune’s house. When the oarsmen pulled cudgels, the crowd parted, though they pressed in again as soon as the horses had passed and Juliana, who was riding with Tiny at the rear of the party, received pleading hands on both sides.
“What ship did you come on, mistress, please, will it be taking on passengers?” a voice cried out. Juliana wondered what could have made these people so frantic. The only time she’d seen similar scenes was during the Christian persecutions two years before.
Their arrival in Gaul had not passed as she’d expected.
And then she saw Sybellina and Tiny whispering together behind Constantine’s back and a sudden and awful foreboding almost overcame her. They were planning something. Tiny hardly spoke to her these days and she’d stopped worrying about him. That had clearly been a mistake. He’d been so amiable recently, but the look on his face now reminded her of how he’d looked just before he’d attacked her.
She thought about riding up to Constantine and warning him. And then it came to her. She knew what she had to do. It was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment.
XXX
Massilia, Southern Gaul, 306 A.D.
“Too long I’ve waited,” Constantine shouted, to no one in particular, as soon as they’d left the mob at the gate behind.
“Too many years I’ve wasted. The air is sweet here, isn't it?” Constantine slowed his horse and looked around. Sybellina put one hand on her hips, and, looking round for an audience, mimicked his little speech. Tiny, who rode right behind her, giggled.
Constantine wasn't sure how he should react. He shook his head and scowled at her. Then he saw her pout, and he laughed. There were a few nagging doubts, but there was no escaping the sensation of freedom, the feeling that his bonds had been lifted as soon as he’d arrived in Gaul. He’d escaped Galerius. Nothing could change that.
He didn't expect a proper welcome until he met his father in the far north. What mattered was that he was free. All Lucius’ stupid talk about Maxentius' galley captain being treacherous was just that, talk. His concerns had vanished like the darkness vanishes when a hundred lamps are lit. He looked at the puffs of sun-tinged clouds racing across the blue spring sky and savored the moment. He’d waited years for this. Too many years.
He turned and looked back at the dock gates. No one was coming after them. His time was coming, exactly as had been predicted.
“Come, my lord, the Tribune of the 5th has a private bath, and a cellar bursting with the best wines in the whole province,” said Sybellina. “He was posted here after serving on the Germania frontier. You'll like him.” She held out her hand. He took it. She grinned at him, then looked away shyly. He let her fingers slip through his and wondered what it would be like with her, what tricks she would show him.
Lucius interrupted his thoughts.
“I hope his bath girls are as good as the ones in the east. You liked my father’s, didn’t you, Constantine?” He slapped Constantine’s back.
Constantine nodded, remembering one bath girl in particular. She’d spent most of the time giggling. Her skill with the bath oils had been remarkable. Yes, he was looking forward to the comforts of land: cooked food, steady ground, pliable bath girls.
Young children playing ball in the road stopped to stare at them as they passed. He bowed slightly at a little girl with a ribbon in her hair. She stuck her tongue out at him.
Tall three and four floor apartment blocks with taverns and merchants’ shops along their ground floor colonnades lined the narrow streets. Nearly every shop was closed. They passed an empty circus arena. After that the road widened and a little way beyond they came to the Via Narbo, where the Tribune lived. Soon he could relax.
The Tribune Marcus greeted them warily in the small courtyard of his villa. He was a sturdy middle-aged man with a nut-hard face and small, nervous eyes.
“Your arrival couldn't have come at a better time, my lord. It’s as if the gods themselves have arranged it,” said Marcus, as soon as he found out who Constantine was.
“Double bar the gates,” he shouted at some slaves standing nearby. His eyes kept darting past Constantine as he fired questions at him. He even looked wistful when the galley oarsmen left to hurry back to the port.
“Did you see a mob at the port?”
Constantine nodded.
“Were the taverns closed on the road by the Circus?”
“Yes.”
“It gets worse, just as I expected.” Marcus turned and walked into the villa, gesturing for them to follow.
Tiny had been charged by Lucius to look after the horses, Juliana the baggage. She looks disappointed, thought Constantine as they hurried after Marcus. He shook his head. Sybellina had been warning him about the dangers of getting too close to slaves, how they couldn’t be trusted.
He followed Marcus through the villa to two marble benches set in the corner of a small vine-trellised inner courtyard. There they sat and listened to Marcus’ story under a tile edged square of blue sky. The smell of meat cooking wafted through the courtyard. Sybellina sat at the edge of one bench, he and Lucius on another. The mosaic under their feet was cracked and faded, bleached by the sun.
“I used my auxiliaries to suppress rioting yesterday,” said Marcus. “Ten people died.”
He waved away a slave serving goblets of wine. The man handed the last one to Lucius and bowed politely. Marcus walked toward him and balled both fists. He looked pale. The slave ran.
“One of the people who died was my wife’s brother. And all thanks to our beloved governor. He demands too many bribes. Bribes beyond reason, my lord. And when he can’t collect, he places extra taxes on all our tradespeople.”
Sybellina tutted.
“Three days ago, a group of respectable merchants were arrested on their way to his palace to present a petition. They will be sold as slaves, he tells me. And what is their crime? Enquiring politely about the disappearance of their daughters and the progress of the investigation our governor promised. Ten young girls have disappeared. Stories are going around about strange practices at his palace. For the love of the gods, Constantine, we must do something.”
“I don’t know if I can help,” said Constantine. He’d dealt with petitioners appealing against injustice before. Mostly all he’d been able to do was sound sympathetic and send the
m on their way. Some of them had clearly been exaggerating their woes, but others, like Marcus, had been instantly believable. If what he said was true, his father would surely want to know about it. He was in one of his father’s provinces. He should be able to do something for a petitioner here.
Marcus paced up and down.
“My lord. You could go to governor Martinianus and press him to free these people. You are their last chance. The whole town will revolt if this is not settled well, like Narbonne did last year. That place has still not recovered.”
Then, with a weary sigh, he went down on one knee in front of Constantine. He looked embarrassed, as if he sensed his pleading would be in vain.
“Up, Marcus, get up. I have no status here.” Not officially anyway, he thought, but perhaps Marcus was right, as the emperor’s son his voice should have some influence. Marcus eased himself to his feet.
“Have you sent messengers to my father?” said Constantine. “A trial to remove a governor requires evidence. Do you have such evidence? And who will pay the expense of the trial?”
“We’ve sent messengers, my lord. I believe your father is recruiting in Germania, so it'll be many days before he even hears of all this. And there’ll be no trial, my lord. It'd be years before the case came up, and by then all this will be history.” Marcus sounded defeated.
“I know your father. I'm sure he wouldn't approve of what's happening here, but we have partly independent status in Massilia, as one of the oldest protectorates of Rome. That means the governor can only be removed for acts of treason.” His eyes brightened, as if he’d just thought of something.
“But if you intervened, my lord, before these people are sold, he may delay things. That will allow time for your father to reply.”
It didn’t seem too much to ask for. He should help these people.
“You win, Marcus. I'll petition the governor for you, but you must come with me, to give evidence.”
Marcus stepped back. “My wife, my son, my baby daughter, they are all here with me, my lord.” He looked around, as if he’d suddenly become concerned that someone might be listening, or that he’d been talking too loudly. Constantine remembered he’d heard a baby crying earlier as they’d passed down the corridor from the outer courtyard.
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